


Harry Potter and the Dog Days

by ImperfectSilence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Harry and Sirius Deserve Better, So Can Dumbledore, The Ministry can go to Azkaban, Voldie too, is that too much to ask for?, just be happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-10-09 11:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17406086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperfectSilence/pseuds/ImperfectSilence
Summary: Sirius is a rebel, and not even Dumbledore can stop that. He sneaks out to watch Harry after GoF. With the ministry debacle, he takes matters into his own hands- er, paws.





	1. Chapter 1

The first warning that something was wrong was the sudden cold. The sharp drop in temperature, the way the grass dried up and the daisy’s curled and blackened, like all of the color was being sucked out of them. The second warning was the way the world lost its luster, the colors draining to grey, the sound slowly dimming and fading away.

“Put it right!” His cousin shouted, shoving Harry in the chest.

“this isn’t me!” Harry protested, pulling his wand and whirling about, trying to see the all too familiar creatures. His seeker eyes spied their cloaks fluttering against the clouds, the gray on gray an almost perfect camouflage.

“Dudley, run! To the tunnel!” Harry shouted, shoving his wand back in his pants and booking it for the concrete pipe. The tunnel was an after sight added to the park as the neighborhood around it grew, and they redid the road. No longer was it a two-lane thoroughfare, but a sprawling four lane buzzing byway. The parents of the local children balked at the danger that crossing it would pose, (as well as the sharp difference it would do to housing prices from what had be comparable homes) and thus the pipe was put in place. It was a large concrete thing, ugly, but buried so no one saw it. In the winter some homeless tried to shelter in it, in the spring it flooded with the rains. Summers teens smoked or drank, and in the fall, it was used for moments of privacy. Harry ran down the length, empty fast food wrappers whipping about his feet as the dementors presence kicked up a wind. Dudley, in a surprising fit of athleticism, was close behind him. One of the creatures lunged down to block the end of the pipe Harry had been making for. He drew his wand and thought of his dad, of his mom’s smile, Hermione at the ball, Sirius asking if he wanted to live with him, Ron and Fred and George and Luna and Neville and he focused—

“EXPECTO PATRON-“ Dudley’s fist halted the spell and Harry’s magic fizzled out.

“I said put it right!” The rotund bully shouted, smashing a ham fist into Harry’s nose once more.

“Big D- it’s not me! Can’t you see-“ And then Harry remembered Hermione, during one of the marathon study sessions, primly reciting that muggles cannot see dementors, because they lack magic. Muggles only see the change in weather and mood and put it down to hormones. As Dudley is drawing back his fist once more, James’s voice starts creeping in.

_“..him and go! Lily!”_

“Dudley, you have to trust me, I can make this go away, but I need my wand!” The weight atop Harry shifts away, and he starts to scrabble for his wand, but the feeling only gets worse as the other dementor blocks the entrance they came from.

_“Step aside, girl!”_

A loud growl fills the tunnel, and Harry is forced to curse his luck. Of course, the rabid stray the neighbors had been reporting would find them right now as well. A loud bark echoes and Harry panics.

“Lumos!” His wand, much to his surprise lights up. The wand isn’t pointed toward any of the ends of the tunnel, more off center of the wall, but the edge of the light shows a familiar black dog standing guard, teeth bared. Before it hovers one Dementor, skeletal hands twitching toward its hood.

Dudley moans, his eyes rolling in his head. Sirius barks again, snapping at the dementor when it presses forward. For some reason, it seems reluctant to approach any further.

The other one is not as cautious, perhaps not facing down the Animagus it isn’t as threatened, as its surges forward, transfixed on Harry’s head. Sirius feels the change and spins on his tail, tackling the dementor and ripping at its throat. To Harry’s shock, the dementor shakes and shudders, as if being sundered. With a mighty jerk, something snaps in the dementor, and its cloak settles to the floor, the magic keeping it billowing fading.

The grim looks up, teeth bared once more past the fallen boys at the other foul spectre, black ribbon caught in its teeth from the torn cloak. The dementor settles and backs away, flying off.

Harry, who had been fighting the effects as long as he could, succumbs as the adrenaline fades and goes limp on the floor.

 

It is a curious thing, the Animagus transformation process. You see, the exact creature one becomes cannot always be identified. It has always been of debate whether or not a witch or wizard can access their magic while in the animal shape, or in what form they can, if it is at all possible. For most, the topic never becomes relevant. Most animagi never face a circumstance where they have to survive an extreme duress, such as threat to life or happiness or livelihood while transformed. When the marauders became animagi, as any teenage boy learning to do so at such an age, they joked about being magical creatures. James bragged about being a frost stag, who had an affinity for the cold. Peter laughed about being a calling mouse, who could mimic voices. Sirius, however, Sirius brooded about being cursed by his name. He feared that by being a Black, by having touched the dark, having had it in his blood and grown up in it, that it would be forced to become part of him. When his form was that of a grim, as he was the last to nail down his form, he loudly and often remarked at being ‘just a big, shaggy, black mutt’. Perhaps he was right and he was just a big black shaggy mutt all the way up to his imprisonment. Maybe the effects he gained came from the prolonged dementor exposure. However, he may have always been cursed by his blood and name and had to be something darker. Perhaps it was none of those and ended up being the most powerful of magics, love, as Albus Dumbledore would tell you. Either which way, Sirius Black, wanted for murder and escaping prison, being the first person to do so solo, also that day became wanted for destruction of government property. It would take quite some digging to turn up what property he had destroyed, and even more to get the ministry to admit that he did so without a wand. The fact was, the heir Black became the first recorded wizard to slay a dementor.

 

* * *

 

Harry awoke to a familiar, smiling face.

“Wotcher, Harry!”

“Tonks?” he asked groggily, rubbing his scar as the cobwebs shook loose.

“Take it easy, you had quite a night.” She says, leaning back on the dresser.

“Dudley! The Dementors! I- I performed magic!” harry shouts, scrambling against the comforter tucked around him.

“Hey, I said take it easy!” Tonks scolds, pushing him back down. “yes, you and your portly cousin were attacked by two of those things. You’re both fine, thanks to Sirius.”

“Sirius! He-“

“Yes, he saved you. No one really knows how, but he did. He will also be getting a talking to, sneaking out yet again.” Tonks admits.

“Again?” Harry asks.

“He’s been slipperier than a greased grindylow. We’ve spotted him prowling around here ever since school let out.” She leans closer, “I don’t always report him. He misses you, and I can’t blame him. He is downstairs with Remus, clearing things up with your relatives.”

“Uncle Vernon is going to freak.” Harry moans, falling back on the bed. Tonks scoffs.

“He’ll have a while to work on it. You’re coming with us.” She waggles her eyebrows, shifting them through a spectrum of colors.

“I am?” Harry asks, “But what about Dumbledore?”

Tonks’ grin fades. “So, that’s due to me. You know how I’m an auror, right?” At Harry’s nod, she continues. “So, I’ve sworn oaths to the ministry. Some I have wriggle room, some I don’t. I don’t have to turn Sirius in, ‘cause he’s innocent, but I had to report the dementor. Dead Dementor and not where it is supposed to be means Captain Amy gets a call, pronto.”

“Captain Amy?”

“Director Amelia Bones. She was forced into the chair by Mad-Eye when he quit. She agreed to take it, didn’t really have a choice, but refused to give up her title. Says one day she’s going to climb back out of the chair and start running patrols again.” Tonks says.

Slow footsteps make their way up the stairs, and after a moment Remus pokes his head in.

“It’s all cleared up downstairs. Get him packed up and we’re out. Mad-Eye is getting antsy.” Remus drops Harry’s trunk on the floor and Tonks pops it open.

“Does he have anything fun in here?” she says, poking around through the top layer of hastily packed clothing and school supplies.

“Tonks!” Harry protests, climbing out of bed.

The metamorphmagus shoots up triumphantly with a pale blue scarf. “Ha! Knew it!” she winks at Harry. “Have something to admit?”

“It’s nothing!” he protests weakly.

“Sure.” Tonks goes to toss it aside but pauses as it slings by her nose. Her nose crinkles. “Why do you have Fleur’s scarf in your trunk?”

“She gave it to me when I signaled for her in the maze. I don’t know what she said, but she tied it to me. Wait, how do you know its hers? It doesn’t have her name on it.”

“No reason at all.” Tonks says, tossing it quickly back into the trunk.

“You smelled her perfume on it. How do you know what she smells like?” he teases.

“May have ran into her in Diagon. We had lunch a few times.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Harry asks.

“Prat!” She laughs, smacking his arm. “Fleur is a _lady_ , she doesn’t do dalliances with commoners.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Mhmm, sure.” Harry says disbelievingly.

“So,” Tonks says, flicking her wand, “time to pack up all of this. Sirius said to take it all with you, to not risk leaving anything.” With one flick of her wand, Harry’s entire trunk unpacked, things flying out into piles. “This is a spell my mother taught me. She got it from one of her friends, a spell crafter name Selene.”

“Pack.” With a sharp flick of her wand, a miniature hurricane of clothing and papers and quills and parchment started swirling. Drawers shot open and the closet door fell off its hinge again. Clothes folded and stacked, while papers and books and other things tucked themselves into gaps. Caught up in the show, Harry narrowly caught his glasses when they tried to fly off his nose and into the trunk as it clapped closed. The room looked like it had been ransacked, drawers on the floor, one of the closet doors askew, hanging only by the top hinge. The mattress was stripped, the old stains showing. All of the furniture was bare, the only sound a slight thumping under their feet.

“Right.” Harry said, kneeling down and prying up the loose board. He pulled out an old schoolbag, which had been pushing on the plank. Harry slings it on his shoulder and looks around for one last time.

“Is that all?” Tonks asks, looking herself.

“That’s it.” They step out of the room and walk down the hall, starting down the stairs when something flashes in front of Harry’s face. He snags it out of the air, the chain spooling around his fist.

“It’s a locket.” He exclaims, fiddling with it as he descended the stairs. As he walks into the kitchen, where everyone is gathered, it pops open. Inside is a photo of his mother, a still photo, but he can tell it replaced the original image. Carved on the back is: L.E. from D.M. & M.M.

“Now he takes your jewelry too.” Vernon snarls.

“It’s actually Lily’s. Her roommates gave that to her when they all graduated.” Remus says.

“Got it all, pup?” Sirius asks.

“Everything.” Harry replies.

“Then we’ll be off.” Sirius turns to Aunt Petunia and Vernon, “Hopefully we do not see each other for a long time. Not that I don’t like you, but I don’t like you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Vernon gruffs, shooing them with his hands. “Go!”


	2. Dog Door

Harry is still fiddling with his locket when they arrive at a dingy road outside London. He only looks up when Remus squeezes his shoulder.

“Time to go, Harry.” The werewolf says, lifting the trunk with ease. Harry follows Dora’s pink hair down the steps of the knight bus and down the road. With a bang, the knight bus rockets off, setting off more than a few car alarms.

“Where are we?” Harry asks, looking around. “This place is a dump.”

“I’m so telling Siri that you said that.” Tonks says, reaching in her coat pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. “Memorize this, then say it in your head while looking around.”

Harry reads the slip of paper with familiar, ornate writing on it.

**12 Grimmauld Place is the Home of Sirius Black and the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix**

With a creak and a loud groan, the houses across the street stretch, the foundations grinding as they slide to make room for the new house growing from the ground. Harry would have been awestruck at the magic, had Moody not stuck his head out and barked,

“Get in here already! You’re a sitting duck out there,” his eye whirling in all directions. Chided, the trio scampered in the door.

“Quiet until we reach the kitchen.” Remus whispers, following Moody who still has his wand out. Once they are past the heavy door to the kitchen, Remus sets the trunk down with a loud clatter.

“You didn’t charm it?” Moody grunts.

“I forgot.” Remus admits, starting a kettle for tea.

“So, falls to me to teach you about this place. Which is, coincidentally, Sirius’ home. You lovingly called it a dump.” Tonks overrides his protests by continuing. “Out in the front hall is a portrait of the lovely Walburga Black, Sirius’ mum, who still commands the house elf, Kreacher, who will probably try to kill you three times before breakfast and one time at it. Moving on,” She steps through a door and motions for Harry to follow and duck. “This is the main staircase, which has a wonderful clock in the corner. It shoots out brass hands on the hour. If you ever are wondering what the time is, just check the wall for holes. It’ll tell you the hour, at the very least.”

She tells him that the library is down this hall, and that door leads to the basement, neither of which have been cleared enough for someone without Black blood. “Real nasty curse on the door to the potions lab. It actually turns your blood black- turns the iron to obsidian. Painful death as your heart pushes the shards around. No known counter curse, so be careful.”

“This house does not seem very safe.” Harry says cautiously.

“It isn’t, and never was. Mum has told me a few stories from visiting here- this place is a deathtrap. Seems that Old whatshisname Black though that if you couldn’t survive a hostile environment, you weren’t worth keeping around. It’s not as bad upstairs.” Tonks shares.

Upstairs, Harry catches a glimpse of a wrinkled elf diving into a room, the door slamming behind it.

“Kreacher. He hates all of… well everyone.” Tonks explains. “you’re two more flights up, but I figured you wanted to see this.” She pushes open a door.

Inside is a riot of color compared to the doom and gloom outside of its walls. Every surface is covered in red or gold, posters of motorcycles and women in swimsuits plastered the walls. Hanging from the ceiling is a cracked foe glass. A broken broom leans in the corner.

“Sirius old room.” Tonks says.

“Are those bloodstains on the bed?” Harry whispers.

“Oh yeah.” Tonks says, quietly conjuring a blanket over them. “ His parents hated his decorating. He paid for all of this in blood.” She admits. “He did run away after 5th year. Your Dad’s parents just about adopted him that summer, and he didn’t come back here until he was graduated.”

“That’s… good.” Harry says slowly.

“I figured you’d enjoy seeing some of your godfather’s history.” She says, pulling the door closed. Harry turns, and notices that the room across the hall is open.

“Who lived in there?”

“Siri’s brother, Regulus.” They poke their heads in, but there’s nothing to note. The room is done up in muted green and silver. The walls are mostly bare, only a single picture rests on the dresser. The bed is made, and conspicuously lacking in bloodstains.

“He was the golden boy.” Tonks sighs. “Golden all the way to his initiation.  Regulus was a death eater. Seeing all this makes it a little easier to see how people thought Sirius really did murder those people, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. This place could make anyone crazy enough to snap.” Harry agrees. “Let’s go.”

“Sounds good to me. If you’re curious, the door at the end of the hall was Sirius’ parents, but now belongs to Witherwings. Hagrid will be here in a week to get him and set him free.”

Upstairs, Harry sees a few friendly faces.

                “Ron! George!”

                “Heyya harry.”

                “You’re here! Hermione will be here tomorrow, she had something to do with her parents last minute.”

                “Where’s Fred?” Harry asks, bypassing one redhead for the other. He isn’t used to seeing one twin without the other close by.

                “What? I’m Fred!” George says. “He’s helping Dad with something.”

                Harry shoots him a disbelieving look but doesn’t press the issue.

                “Alright Harry let’s get you to your room. You can socialize after I’m back to work.” Tonks cuts in, motioning for another set of stairs.

The top floor is drastically different from the others. For one, it’s clean. The wallpaper isn’t dark green or grey, the carpet doesn’t look like it should be a key witness in a case for a serial killer.

“This is the highest floor in the house, and as such, the best defended. This floor is for the young and the weak. Newborns and pregnant women mostly. When you’re three, you get moved down a floor, and again when you’re eleven. This is also the first floor we have cleaned and repaired completely. We’re going top down. After today, Sirius insisted that you have a room up here. Mrs. Weasley tried to fight him, but it is his house. He locked her out of the floo not too long ago for a few days. She was furious, but after all her kids sought refuge here, she caved.

It’s a little strange to be honest, she was raging so hard, absolutely demanding to be let back in. Then, all of the sudden, complete turnaround. She’s meek and apologetic about you and him and his choices. Sirius added her to the list again, and that was that. I think Arthur did something.” Tonks keeps up a steady stream of information as she leads him down the hall and to a short bend in the building. “What I said there, that doesn’t go anywhere. I can’t turn off the auror training, but there’s no one that needs to know that, okay? Mums the word.”

                “Now, I do have to get back to work, so listen close. This is your room right here. Next to you is the owl room. Sirius gave you this room because the owl room has the heir’s passageways. Inside there are tunnels that will take you almost anywhere in the house. Now, Harry, you should know something- you have enough Black blood that you’re mostly safe in this house. None of the passive anti-intruder things are going to hurt you. The standard defenses will still activate, but you can learn them without too much trouble. Think of this as an extended DADA session. It’ll be good prep for your NEWT practical. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll send Remus up with your trunk. Stay safe, kid.” Tonks says, turning and descending the staircase. Harry pushes open the door to his room.

                It is obvious that it was never designed for anyone older than three or not about to burst. The room was overly soft, swollenly wrapped in padding. Harry’s feet sank with every step, and he had to check for a straitjacket as he felt the walls. It was done in a very pleasing blue, but it was just too swaddling for him to relax. The bed didn’t even have a frame- just a raised portion of the floor. There was a heavy presence of cushioning charms. The window didn’t open more than a few inches. The door was wedged open, which lead Harry to check why. The reason was clear- there was only one handle on the door. It opened from the outside, but that was it. This wasn’t a home so much as a prison. How exactly had Sirius grown up here?

                As he laid awake, trying to settle to sleep, he thought about what it would be like living here pregnant. With new life inside of you, how much would this feel like a prison? Like you’re delivering your child into a life full of bars and rules and oppressive decisions made for you. How happy would you be to stay here, to live in this for years? Sure, you were safe, but at the cost of your every freedom.

The last thought Harry had, though awfully draconian, was that a room like this would be useful for keeping people alive and unharmed. He wasn’t certain you even **could hurt** yourself. If you had captured someone or needed someone to carry to term….

Harry did not have pleasant dreams that night.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Hermione arrives. She comes in a whirlwind of books and suitcases, seemingly having brought everything she owns with her.

                “Blimey, Hermione! Do you have enough stuff?” Ron asks.

                “I might have overdone it a tad.” She admits, thanking Professor Lupin for his help.

                “Harry!” she exclaims “What are you doing here? Is it safe for you to be-“ Whatever else she was going to say was drowned out by Harry’s flight up the stairs.

                “He’s still pissed at us.” Ron told her.

                “Why? We were only doing what was best for him. Dumbledore said-“

                “Take it from one troublemaker-“

                “-to another. Sometimes-“

“It’s better not to follow orders.” The Twins say, following the boy up the stairs.

“He’ll come around in a few weeks. You’ll see by the time term starts. Everything will be back to normal.” Ron comforts.

                Hermione can’t find it in her to tell him that she isn’t so certain. Harry never did really get over Ron’s betrayal. He just had bigger problems to deal with.

 

* * *

 

The weeks before Harry’s trial flew by, and suddenly he was waking up to get ready for the early morning rush. Due to a scheduling SNAFU, Harry had to catch a lift with Mr. Weasley, and wait for an hour in his office before the trial was to start.

                Harry was so nervous he couldn’t stomach anything. He nibbled on some toast after checking it for poisons. (Today it was in the jam and on the knives. There had also been a Monster book of Monsters lurking on the landing between the staircases.) Soon he and Mr. Weasley were off for the Ministry.

                The trip flew by for Harry, so distracted by the upcoming trial. Hermione had been reading up on pureblood law, but even she had been defeated by the volume of legislation, some of which blatantly contradicted itself. It had become a banned topic at the dinner table, as she could never keep her temper when faced with the truth of the wizarding laws. For instance, Tuesday it had been that muggle baiting was illegal, yet you could still apply for a license to ‘clear out an area of muggle infestation for a construction project’. That hadn’t been the issue for Hermione, however. The issue was that the last license had been granted not more than a week ago!

                Harry followed Mr. Weasley in a daze, his thoughts unable to stay on anything for long. (It would later be discovered that Kreacher had also gotten the tea, slipping a befuddlement draught into the pot.) He was at the guard post before the elevators when a lot seemed to happen at once.

                One, Mr. Weasley drew his wand and shot off a spell at some bloke.

                Two, the auror manning the desk hit the alarm button.

                Three, Mad-Eye drew and started casting at the aurors.

                Four, said Aurors leapt from all around them and seized Harry.

                Five, Harry was dragged down to the courtroom, his wand taken, and his arms cuffed.

                They plopped him in the chair, which immediately wrapped him in chains, which was a little redundant to Harry, because he was already handcuffed.

                “Well well, Mr. Potter. You’ve deigned to join us with your presence. I’m sure we should feel grateful.”

                “Sir? I’m still nearly thirty minutes early for my trial.” Harry said.

                “No, you’re an hour late. Your trial was moved up. Surely you got the notice? We sent it out half an hour ago.” The Minister said, smirking.

                “Sir! That’s not fair! If I was to be notified of my trial being moved then I needed to know before it started! How could I be expected to defend myself?” Harry nearly shouted, his temper gearing up.

                “That is not the court’s problem. You were tried in absentia and found guilty of attempting to violate the statute of secrecy by revealing the wizarding world to a muggle. Your wand will hereby be snapped,”

SNAP! A gleeful woman in pink held the broken pieces of Harry’s wand.

“Your magic will be bound,”  
 A grinning Macnair smiled from the sidelines.

“and your assets are forfeited to the ministry as payment for the fines you’ve incurred.”

This time Fudge himself looked gleeful.

“By magic, so mote it-“ A loud snap shattered the growing moment in the courtroom as Sirius apparated into the middle of the courtroom.

                “Harry! I’ve had enough of this shite, we’re leaving.” Sirius barked, snapping off a maroon spell that dissolved the chains on Harry. He twisted his wand and sent out a wave of purple spells at the contingent of Aurors firing on him. “Grab on, we don’t have long.” Harry lunged at his godfather, hands cuffed. As soon as Harry was safely attached, Sirius pointed at the ceiling, shouted, “BOMBARDA MAXIMA!” and quietly whispered “Tojurs Pur.” The room spun as the portkey whisked them away, the violent yellow spell wobbling in the air.

               

* * *

 

                **Boy-Who-Lived Blows up Ministry with Wanted Felon Sirius Black!**

**Wizengamot Decimated by Terrorist Attack from Public Hero!**

**Where is Harry Potter?**


	3. Shake the Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The British Wizarding world reels in the wake of Sirius' attack. Dumbledore meets with an unlikely ally to help track down the wayward fugitive and his godson. The Ministry fractures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Translate was google translate. Sorry, to anyone who actually knows German. All the psychology- artistic licence. Please, always research something you read in fanfic before parroting it. As always, feel free to respond. I write for fun.

                With the way the Prophet is talking, Hermione isn’t sure what to think. Certainly, Harry was innocent of the crime they accused him of, and while she didn’t think he would blow up the ministry, well, he did have a rather disturbing history of extreme violence. Which was well excused. But being falsely convicted of breaching the statute and having your wand snapped was also within the means for a valid excuse. This was discounting Sirius Black entirely, who she concluded, after interviewing many of the order members in Grimmauld Place, had a very tenuous grasp on reality. She was by no means an expert, but she had read a few books on PTSD and survivors’ guilt and prison psychology, as well as journals on the mental state of people released from KGB cells and holocaust survivors.

                Not an expert by any means but read enough to guess at the level of rationality and view Sirius had been operating under. (Which was good because they lost him at the border between France and Belgium. She wasn’t to know, but she overheard Diggle and Fletcher talking about it.) She reasoned that Sirius was likely under a paranoid delusion that he couldn’t trust anyone, as, in his mind, they all failed either him or Harry.

Dumbledore had not been able to free him from Azkaban, nor protect Harry.

Snape was outright abusive toward them both.

McGonagall helped put Harry at the Dursleys.

Ron and she were just kids.

Mrs. Weasley had been attacking him over his house rules the whole summer.

Remus didn’t believe he was innocent until he broke out and they revealed Peter.

Mad-eye and Arthur had lost Harry in the ministry.

Shacklebolt and Tonks outright worked for the ministry.

                In his mind, Sirius had no one to turn to for help. Add that he had been forcibly confined to his childhood home, which he ran away from no less than eleven times, stuck with Kreacher, who followed the commands of his dead mother over Sirius’, who was alive. Hermione wondered for a moment what would have happened had Tonks and Remus not followed him to the Dursleys the other day. Would Sirius have taken off with Harry just then? Or would he have come back?

                Given he had come back, only for Harry to get hurt worse, Hermione figured that they had probably seen the last of Sirius Black, and by extension, Harry Potter.

* * *

 

                “Miss Granger, if I could trouble you for a moment.” Dumbledore asked calmly, entering the library and waving away the swarm of ravenous books that tried to attack him with a flick of his wand.

                “Certainly, headmaster. What can I help you with?” she replied.

                “I’m going to be inviting someone over here who may be able to help us work out what Sirius may do with Harry. I’d like you to sit in on the meeting and offer what you can.”

                “Absolutely, I’ll do anything I can to help. Who are you asking to assist?”

                “Nymphadora’s mother, Andromeda Tonks, nee Black. She is Sirius’ cousin, disowned for marrying Ted Tonks. It was quite the scandal.”

 

* * *

 

                The next afternoon, the fireplace flashed green and a woman stepped though. She looked nothing like Tonks, which after a moment to remember the latter’s metamorph gifts, made sense. She did resemble Sirius in some ways.

                “Afternoon, Albus. This is where my daughter has been hiding out for the past three months? I suppose it is slightly more tolerable under Sirius than Aunt Walburga. Still, not a healthy home for any child.” She remarks, eyes flicking to Hermione. “Since I know you do not like me, shall we get right to it?”

                “If that is what you wish, then we shall not keep you long.” Dumbledore says, waving her forward. “we’ve gathered in the kitchen to discuss.”

                “Why? Would the Council room not be more suited?” she demands sharply.

                “Alas, the room has not been cleared and Sirius hadn’t gotten around to checking on it before he ran off.” Dumbledore says.

                “Tosh.” Andromeda scoffs, stamping a foot. “Kreacher, you miserable shit. Come here.”

                “Naughty mistress calls? Tired of sullying herself with filth, oh yes. Begs to be let back in, yes. Maybe mistress will let Kreacher do the punishing? Yes, yes she will.” He mumbles, popping in.

                “You can daydream about your whips later. See to it that the council room is fit for business.” She demands.

                “Nasty mistress forgets, yes she does. Mistress cast her out, burned her away. Nasty little whore is no Black anymore!” he screeches, lunging at Andromeda. The elder Black steps out of the way and kicks him further down the hall, drawing her wand and twisting a violet streak into his fallen form. Kreacher howls.

                “You listen to me, you sour, spiteful cretin. I came here as a favor to help track down your living master, the only one who can keep the headship alive. If he dies, so does the house until one of the heirs comes of age. Since both of the eligible ones are already claimed by their own houses, that means that the line of Black will die for at least a generation, if not more given how few wizarding births are. The more you fight, the more the odds increase that your precious house will collapse around your ears as your magic consumes you from the inside to try and keep the family name alive. Would you like that? To have your bonds turn on you, and eat you alive? That organ rotting curse was merely a taste at how it will feel as your precious blood betrays you. Now, you filthy sack of hate, clean the council room. And if I ever catch you hurting my daughter, or even mentioning such vile things near her, I will return and gut you myself. Your head will never be on the wall, and you will end in disgrace, your own family too shamed to even cast you out. Am I understood?”

                “Kreacher will obey, Mistress Dromeda.” He says pitifully, popping away.

                “Now, if you will gather the other participants of this meeting?” She says primly, straightening her skirt and holstering her wand. Hermione is righty horrified, literally feeling the unease and decay grow stronger in the air as the house drinks in the dark magic that had been thrown.

                The uneasy party turns down a hall that had previously been off limits, Remus and Shacklebolt meeting them at the juncture. They continue down to the end, where andromeda pushes through a pair of double doors, throwing them open with a mighty clatter. The room inside is dark and dusty, no lights on and obviously no cleaning down. With a shriek, Kreacher cuts the cord to the chandelier, which plunges down at Andromeda. He reinforces the falling weight with his magic, snapping a shield in place to counter all their spells, cackling.

                “Nasty Mistress thought she won, oh yes she did. Kreacher will kill her and feed her skin to the doxies! Water the tentacula with her blood! Kreacher will make her suffer!”

                Andromeda waits for the falling frame to get close enough and neatly sidesteps it, drawing a knife from somewhere and seizing Kreacher by the ear. Her face is eerily calm as she rips the elf from the cord, slams him through the drywall, and lops off his other ear.

                “I suppose I wasn’t clear enough earlier. I should have known you would require a more convincing argument. Trixie loved her spells, and Cissy was always good at twisting people. I guess over the years you forgot, I was the straightforward one.” Mrs. Tonks face breaks into a snarl and she smashed the hilt of the knife on Kreacher’s hand, pulverizing the bones in his fingers.

“One.”

                She flips the blade around and drives it into the joint of his left knee, prying apart the bones.

                “Two.”

                She pulls the knife ack out and sticks it in the wall, reaching under his loincloth and snagging something. She twists and yanks, pulling something Hermione refuses to look at away, dripping blood.

                “Three. We understand each other now, do we not?”

                “Y- Yes Mistress.” He sobs, blood pouring from his wrist and leg, as well as drip dripping from beneath the dirty cloth. “Kreacher understands.”

                “Good.” She sheathes the dagger after wiping it clean on the house elf’s loincloth and draws her wand, murmuring a spell and dragging it along his bleeding wounds. He howls and screams at the smell of burning flesh fills the air as she cauterizes his wounds. “You will clean this room for us, and then start on the rest of the floor. This place will be as clean as it was when I lived here by the time I leave, understood?”

                “Yes Mistress. Kreacher is sorry he doubted. Kreacher will start.” He snaps his fingers, crying out as the shattered bones in his hand grind together.

                “One more thing, the portrait of dead aunt Walbugra. You will burn it. With her still active. In fact, I’d like to see it. You may do it here, on this table. We will wait.” Sobbing, Kreacher pops way, only to return with the large portrait.

                She screams and yells and spews profanity at them all as she is laid down. Her vitrol does not slow as Kreacher pours turpentine on her, not until she catches sight of Andromeda, wand aglow.

                “What are you doing here, whore! Spread your legs for every man but the one you were supposed to. Ruined our good name. I should have drowned you at birth, you ungrateful bitch. Kreacher kill her! Burn her alive! Run her through. Kreacher! Kreacher.” As the realization sinks in, her tone shifts. “Kreacher?’ she shouts worried. When he refuses to look at her, she asks again, panic filling her frame. “Kreacher! Kreacher! Help me!”

                “Kreacher.” Andromeda says.

                “Yes, Mistress?”

                “You will watch. You will do nothing to stop it, nor speed it along. You will not interact with her beyond witnessing.”

                Andromeda touches her wand to the edge of the canvas, and the flames slowly start to eat the portrait. Walburga Black shrieks and pleads and climbs on her chair to escape the slowly encroaching flames, but no one does anything to stop them. The charms on the painting, laid to try and help the resident survive a fire, now doom her to watching her own demise. Her screams grow louder and more panicked as the fire finally reaches her body. Kreacher is forced to stay and watch the destruction of the one he loved most, eyes glued to the fire. He weeps openly, mouthing words at the woman who is in agony, paying him no mind as she is consumed. With a small sputter, the fire dies. The painting is gone.

                “You may leave now.” She instructs Kreacher, who vanishes with a pop.

                “Miss Black, was that not a bit extreme?” Dumbledore asks.

                “He did worse to Alphard in ’84.” She replies, taking a set at the head of the table. The lights along the outside of the room slowly light up, illuminating the space. It is a large room, dominated by a massive wooden table with chairs around the exterior. There is a fireplace in the back, opposite the doors. No windows, and the chandelier is on the floor. Shacklebolt steps over it to get to a chair. Remus, who is getting over a full moon, yanks it off the floor and slams it on the table.

                “Where is Padfoot?” He snarls.

                Dumbledore coaxes Hermione into a seat, and pick the one between her and Andromeda, who she is still agape at.

                “Remus, we are all frustrated. I ask that you take a moment to breathe. We are here to find them.” Dumbledore says calmly. Remus snarls again and leans back in the chair, angrily forcing himself to breathe and calm down.

                “Shacklbolt, if you would update us on what we know about Sirius’ flight?”

                “Very well.” The dark wizard says, drawing his wand and standing. “Two days ago, Harry potter was taken to a trial for casting a lumos charm in front of his muggle cousin, and exposing the wizarding world.”

“Which is absurd, as his cousin knows about magic.” Hermione interjects.

“When he neglected to appear on time to his trial-“

                “Because the bastard Fudge changed it without warning.”

                “- Minister Fudge tried him in absentia and found him guilty. Using some obscure bylaws, the ministry added additional charges, requiring Mr. Potter to have his wand snapped, as he has not taken his owls, and his magic bound. As the Potter family would then be extinct, the Ministry then tried to claim his assets by the Forfeiture act of 1356. When Mr. Weasley and former Auror Mad-eye Moody arrived at the ministry for what they thought was Mr. Potter’s trial, they were ambushed by Rookwood and Yaxley, as well as two continents of Aurors. While both Mr. Weasley and mad-eye escaped, Harry was taken. From there the facts get fuzzy. It is all but confirmed that Harry’s wand has been snapped, but that his magic was not bound yet. We guess that Sirius apparated into the Ministry when Mr. Weasley returned from the ambush. The survivors say that he abducted Mr. Potter and threw a blasting curse at the ceiling of the room before porting to safety. As both apparition and portkeys are impossible to use inside the ministry, this is unclear.”

Andromeda waves a hand, “My grandfather cracked the wards on the Ministry and the family has been able to break through ever since. Siri probably did just that.”

“Moving on, Gringotts has refused to hand over the potter accounts, so Harry is still alive. The wards on this place have not fallen, so Sirius must still be alive.”

“Wait, go back. You skipped a bit. What happened in France and Belgium?” Hermione asks.

“it is unknown how Sirius escaped the ministry, but he was rediscovered by border control in France. As the ICW has yet to rescind his capture order, they attempted to contain him. He seemingly broke though the squad of French aurors and their Belgian reinforcements, disappearing into Belgium with a young, black haired boy, who we assume is Harry.”

“How young?” Andromeda asks.

“I fail to see the relevance?” Shacklebolt says.

                “Well, if it was a de-aging potion, which is likely, as the charms are rubbish around strong stripping enchantments like the types at international boundaries, then it’s strength is inversely related to the duration. Harry is what, 15? The strongest I know of would bring him down to seven months old, but would only last an hour and a half, assuming standard decay. The weakest would reduce him maybe a month or two, and would last for about six months.”

                “I’m sorry to interrupt, but what would be the purpose of such a weak potion?” Hermione asks.

                “Witches who are close to losing their youth will use them, and slowly increase strength for roughly the year and a half they can. It’s a common affliction, as long-term use builds up toxins and they come to St. Mungos complaining. We flush them out and then dump them loose. It’s a horrible practice, as they now have to adjust to three years aging all at once, on top of the physical shock.” Andromeda explains.

                “The report gave a range, between seven and eleven.” Shack says, drawing them back in.

                “Hmm, Harry has always looked younger than he actually is. When I first met him, I thought he was early admission to Hogwarts, despite the history telling me that was impossible. He looked about 9 rather than 11.” Hermione adds.

                “Hmm, so anywhere from a four to six-year drop, so a 35, 40 proof potion. I’d say he had to redose twice a week if he was to maintain the façade. Which means Sirius needs either access to a lab or he has a limited supply.” She turns to face the door, “Kreacher, how much blisterwort are we short of?”

                “Mistress, the stores are empty. Shall I purchase some more?” the elf responds.

                “Not at the moment. Dismissed.” She turns back, “So, Sirius used it all. Assuming he didn’t flub any of them, and that they were all brewed at the same strength, he has enough for sixteen doses.” Andromeda inducts.

                “That’s two months!” Hermione yelps.

                “Yes, two months straight of being de-aged four to six years. Or, one month of de-aged six to nine years. Or possible a year of intermittent de-aging and normal. The potions will have degraded by that time.” She explains, preemptively answering Hermione’s question.

                “So, we know he has Harry and that they can appear to be various ages younger than they are for the next year.” Dumbledore starts, pausing as Remus coughs. “Mr. Lupin?”

                “Sorry about earlier, the wolf is a little closer than I like to admit. What with his pack running away. Sirius won’t use it all at once. At minimum, he’ll plan to stay in the wind without stopping for three months. He also will be reluctant to drop his own age very far. He and James…” Remus sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You can never let this leave the room. In the early days of the war, Sirius and James planned to run with Lily. James and Lily had just married, James’ parents were still alive, Sirius had no formal ties to Britain. They were going to disappear using de-aging potions. They would trade off being various ages and slip away across borders and counties and to throw off pursuit. Probably where he got the idea for this. Anyway, the potion didn’t agree with Sirius. His life was pretty terrible for most of his youth, and being back in that mindset, he couldn’t take it. He was going to have to stay mostly the same age the whole trip, or else very young. It caused the plan to fall apart, and then Potter Manor fell. James and Lily dropped the idea of leaving, and Siri never said a word about it again. But, he knows that using the potion is playing with fire for him. If he goes too far back, he’s useless. Same with not far enough, due to Azkaban.”

                “What ages?” Andromeda demands. “What ages could he successfully operate at?”

                “Um, between 16 and 20, and then anything in the past two years.”

                “So,” she etches out an equation on the tabletop with her wand before flicking it away, “a 60-65 proof or anything under a 15. Given the strength of the batches we assume he made, “ She concentrates. “Cissy was always better at this than I was. If he uses it all, he has 12 days young or up to seven months older.”

                “He wouldn’t go older.” Hermione adds. “He hates Azkaban- it gives him nightmares and drives him to drink. If he’s going to go under, then he’s going to go back farther than Azkaban. And he won’t not potion Harry, he can’t afford to.” When the whole room looks at her, she shrinks a little. “It’s true.”

                “Do explain, my dear.” Andromeda says, aiming to sound kind and polite. (It doesn’t work on the still horrified Hermione.)

                “Well, I call it Harry’s saving people thing. He can’t stay out of a fight to help someone. If he is above about 10, then he’s going to try and pull Sirius into whatever they find, and given his luck, they will be tossed into bad situations. Mind you, under that he’s going to be in the Dursley mindset. How to explain it… Like a house elf! That’s about the attitude he’ll have between 4 and 10. Not like Kreacher or Dobby, mind you, but a normal house elf.”

                “So, we’re looking for a young man, having just come of age with a meek child, or a rebellious but well-intentioned teenager.” Shacklebolt summarizes.

                “If he can’t replenish his stores, then that façade will only last about a month before they run out. So, they’ll have to stay isolated for long portions or risk being themselves. Given they’re both well known, being themselves is a very dangerous risk.” Andromeda adds.

                “Sirius can speak French, English, German, and Farsi, last I knew.” Remus adds.

                “Harry knows a little Swedish and Chinese.” Hermione says.

                “This just gets better and better.” Shacklebolt mutters, writing their findings down, “Anything else?”

                “Mr. Black is, or at least was, comfortable in both male and female form.” Dumbledore says quietly. At the look of shock across the table he expands. “He and Lily often went to Hogsmeade together in fourth year, without her knowing it was him. He pretended to be a rather shy third year Ravenclaw.”

                “Wow.” Andromeda says plainly. “I- I have no idea.” Remus similarly looks shocked.

                “Harry can mimic being blind or deaf with startling accuracy.” Hermione fills in. “It’s far more difficult than it sounds.”

                “Anything else?” The room is quiet. “Then I’m going to pass this on to the people I trust working the case.” Shacklebolt stands to leave but Hermione interrupts.

                “One last thing to note, Sirius took Harry.”

                “That’s pretty obvious.” Remus says.

                “Not in the way it matters. Look, from what we know, Sirius didn’t ask Harry to come with him. Sirius didn’t give him a choice. Harry loves Sirius, but he also has friends and people he cares about here. He may be okay running for a while, but Harry will want to come back at some point.” She expands.

                “And Sirius will not let that happen.” Andromeda says, catching on. “It’s a kidnapping. While Harry went willingly, he won’t want to stay away forever, but Sirius won’t let him go. Harry is going to try to run away from Sirius and return at some point!”

                “But if Harry fails, after a couple times, he’s going to stop trying.”

                “Stockholm.” Remus says.

                “What’s Sweden got to do with this?” Shack asks.

                “Not the city, the syndrome. People who get taken, after a while they stop fighting to leave. They grow used to the life, and they give up trying to escape. After enough time, Harry won’t want to come home either. He’ll forget about us.” Remus explains.

* * *

 

"Danke, dass Sie mir Ihr Tranklabor nutzen lassen!” The man said, pressing a few notes into his hand and leading the child away by the hand, disappearing into the bustle of the city. The man looked down at the notes he had been handed, they were french francs, useless here. He scowled and went back inside.

_“Thank you for letting me use your potions lab!”_

* * *

 

“Excuse me, Delores,”

“That’s Madame Minister to you!”

“Madame Minister, what is this warrant for my niece? I guarantee you she has done nothing illegal.”

“She taught Mr. potter how to blow up our ministry. I want her and her friends here for sentencing.”

“Delores, she is just a child! You can’t hold her responsible for-“

“Director, did I not make myself clear? I want your niece in chains by the morning. It should eb easy for you given your relationship. She’ll never see it coming.” Umbridge sniffs.

* * *

 

“Did you hear? The Director quit!

What?! No! Without her, the ministry is doomed!

I’m getting my family out!

We’ve got nowhere to go!

You can stay with us, here, I’ll give you the floo password.

OH SHIT! BONES JUST DECLARED WAR! AN UNSPEAKBALE ATTACKED HER IN THE ATRIUM AND SHE WENT BALLISTIC! HEXED THE MINISTER BLACK AND BLUE AS A PARTING GIFT.

Fuck, I’m with the Director.

She has my wand.

 

“EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP!

IF YOU’RE LOOKING TO GET OUT OF BRITAIN, SEE PROUDFOOT. SHE’S GOT RELATIVES IN PORTUGAL THAT’LL HELP YOU THROUGH.

 IF YOU’RE GOING TO HUNKER DOWN, BEST OF LUCK.

IF YOU’RE STAYING ON, MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOULS.

IF YOU’RE WITH THE DIRECTOR, SAVAGE HAS THE FLOO ADDRESS OF THE OSSUARY. SHE’S GOING TO WAR.

* * *

 

In a matter of hours, the department of magical law enforcement was gutted, as over half of it’s members quit. Many of them turned right around and joined the former director in declaring war on the ministry. Some took their families and fled. Some pulled their wards tight and hunkered down. Needless to say, civil war had come to magical Britain.

* * *

 

**Ministry in Shambles**

**Statute Nearly Broken in Wake of Bombing**

**Madame Umbridge elected Interim Minister**

**DMLE Head Sacked**

**Civil War?**

**Dark Mark seen above Ministry**

**Azkaban Attacked, Deserted**


End file.
